


Take the Pill

by boyar



Category: The Walking Dead (TV), Twd - Fandom
Genre: M/M, hitman!rick, twd, underage!daryl
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-15 05:07:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4593960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boyar/pseuds/boyar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rick Grimes is a hitman, and works for the largest mob/mafia in the east coast/Philadelphia mainly.  He had a wife and two children, after a break in to their home, they were all shot and killed. The accident caused him to go mute after a while. He hardly speaks to anyone besides head nodding and grunts. Rick is the only one who survived the accident; moving away to a new city in a new state, he meets the current mob boss, Uncle Joe. Once he is contracted, he was ordered to kill Will Dixon, Daryl Dixon's father. Daryl walks in on Rick making the kill, and Rick never forgets that face. Something changes in him. BASED in the 1990's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Scent

**Author's Note:**

> First fic posted to this site, let me know what you think about the writing style/AU style that I chose! hughmikkelsen.tumblr.com -- Rickyl/TWD tumblr, madsdancy.tumblr.com -- Hannigram/NBCHannibal tumblr.

Rick Grimes was a sheriff in Cynthia, Kentucky, where he grew up. It was a small and quiet town with not much to do, and there was always just two paths a person could take: a drug and alcohol filled life that could only thrive off of stealing and thieving others, and a quiet, boring little life of a desk worker, or a cop. Rick was always raised to be the good boy, to stay on track, to join the military or follow in his pig father's footsteps. Which he never wanted to do, but to keep his mother happy and without worry, he did as he was told and followed his pop.

He went off and got married to his high school sweetheart, popped out two kids. They changed him, he thought his life was inevitably going to be boring. He thought he would go to work every day, file some papers and answer a few calls and go right back home, sit in the recliner and crack open a beer. But they made his life more exciting then he had thought it could be living as a cop. He loved his kids, and he was a good father, Lori, his wife, adored him the most for that one simple aspect; she was so proud to have him as her own. He started doing better at work, started splitting apart cases in place of those beer cans. Every night he would come home to a cooked meal and two kids filled with questions and stories about their day along with all the ideas they had been thinking up recently. He loved listening to them, especially. Dinner wasn't right unless Carl was talking about how much he wanted to go out and fix the old jeep with his dad some day when he had the time. Rick was in bliss. He was always confused about how lucky he had gotten, how happy he was and how other people don't deserve this feeling. That's why someone had to take it from him.

It snowed that night. It snowed pretty hard. He actually went home early that night because it was so slow, no one wants to go out in a damn blizzard to rob a gas station. He was happy he took Carl out to the woods a few days later to chop all that wood, they could light up the fireplace tonight and sit around it together. Which is what they did. Rick remembers stopping off at the grocery store to buy the family some desert and hot chocolate packets as a special surprise. It's one memory he will never let go of. 

1:16AM and there is the sound of glass breaking in the kitchen. Rick's eyes shoot open. He reaches for the gun in the bottom drawer in his dresser, underneath all of his work pants. Signals to Lori to keep quiet, check on the kids. He creeps down the stairs, and trying to be smart about it, peeks into the kitchen, sees nothing, and decides to go around to the other entrance to the kitchen. As he peeks in through this entrance, he sees a shattered cup on the ground, it was knocked over after someone seemingly knocked it over while climbing through the kitchen window. He freezes, he thinks. They're still down here, there's no way they could have gone upstairs without me hearing, he thinks. As he proceeds to step forward and get ready to cling to a wall, gets ready to blow this motherfucker away for daring to smudge the image of his life and happy home, he hears the click of the gun, then nothing else.

**

It's been four years since his family was murdered. He's turning 34 this year, and he's spending his birthday alone like every other year since they died. Since the fact that he had accepted his family was gone, he's ignored any and all types of contact with people, has eventually become mute. He left Kentucky about a year after the murders, decided to go out east, somewhere he knew people wouldn't bother him as much. He got his drunk, scruffy ass off the couch and went up to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. He got a house just on the outskirts, in the suburbs. He lived there comfortably, working mostly construction jobs where communication was almost completely uneeded. He regularly visited the shooting range, wanted to keep up his skill if he needed to face some stupid mother fuckers yet again. He would be ready, always ready. In fact, the shooting range is not the only place he would go to shoot. He would go to the junk yard, play i-spy with himself and practice, he would sharpen his senses with hunting, practice his stealth out in the woods. He would take the neighbors son out hunting with him once he got to know them, his father admired Rick. Couldn't talk to him much, obviously, Rick didn't say much. But they had somehow formed a friendship when the man would catch Rick shooting the deer the his wife liked to feed/watch. They laughed over this sometimes, and the man applauded him; he fucking hated those deer.

Once his son realized how well Rick could hunt, he felt the need to bring it to attention, but not to the best people. The kid had been doing side jobs for someone who had worked under Philadelphia's mob boss Uncle Joe directly, and he thought it would only be an interesting conversation piece with the man. The kid fucked up, fucked up big time. It wasn't until a few weeks later that Rick started noticing he was being followed to the shooting range, noticed fresh prints in his back yard signifying that someone had been watching him shoot the deer, never missing the head shot. Uncle Joe was recently getting pretty desperate, his two best hitmen teamed up to try to take him over, so he had to have him taken care of. He wanted someone fresh, someone new, someone easy to dig up on. Rick was perfect. Uncle Joe knew everything about the man before he even stepped into his office including the type of fucking toilet paper he buys. It took a while to convince Rick to work for him, aside from failed intimidation, he had promised to help catch the person or people who had killed his family. For that, he had a weak heart. Rick signed over his soul to the devil.

A few months later, after Rick was more properly trained to be a killer, he was ready to start taking contracts. He never felt the instinct to kill, not before he started having nightmares of the bodies. Before he started rethinking every single detail of what had happened that night. What he heard, what he saw. Rick should have never tried to be smart, going to the other entrance, when he looks back at it he only gets angry at himself. Every day he rethinks what he _should_ have done. None of it matters anymore. Not when he's slitting the throats of child molesters, thieves and **murderers.**

**

Rick's been killing for another two years. He's going to be 36 this year. Uncle Joe couldn't be happier that he found him; Rick doesn't even worry about finding his family's killer anymore, not even a fucking mob boss can find him. He know he won't be able to. He does it for the satisfaction at this point. Slips in, slips out. _Stabs in, stabs out._ Although he doesn't particularly like stabbing or using his hands; he finds it way too intimate. He no longer minds that he's killed countless people, doesn't think about it anymore, he's numb. But he would rather keep it as professional as possible, and only has to use his hands when he knows the silencer won't be quiet enough. 

It's not until he's contracted with Will Dixon's death that he is excited to kill with his hands. The man often sneaks in and out of houses, terrorizing innocent families for money, normally he turns it into pain and suffering. Rick has a sweet spot for home breakers. He has a sweet spot for people who prey on the innocent, who take away others happiness because they could never have their own. Normally these files would not be picked up by Uncle Joe. These things aren't his business, but this man, in the process of breaking into people's homes and stealing their things, scaring and hurting their families, entered the home of his son-in-law's mother's home where his younger sister slept and was beaten by Will. As Rick sits in his home reading up the rest of his file, he notices that the man has two sons. Merle and Daryl Dixon. Merle is about 30, Rick sees in the text that he is locked up. But Daryl is only just turning 17 this year, still lives with his father, and Rick always has a surge of remorse when he has to take parents or loved ones away from younger people; until he reads that Will beats the living shit out of Daryl almost every night since the mob has been watching him for the past two weeks. Rick takes a sip of the whiskey in the glass that was hanging from his fingers, grinds his teeth, then throws the file into the fire in front of him as he normally does. It had to be tonight. He lets Dimino, Uncle Joe's consigliere know of his plans and he agrees to it. The man is most likely passed out drunk in his home, anyway. Won't even know whats comin' to him. He gets his gear together. 

**

Rick enters the home through a picked lock in the back. It's about 12:30AM. There are no lights throughout the home besides the one shining through from the TV. Will is passed out on the recliner, beer and dead cigarette in his hand. He's snoring. Rick takes a moment to look around at the setting of the home. Stained carpet, the smell of stale beer and sweat, yellow stained walls. He fixed on Will and continues to stealth his way behind him, looking at the TV for a moment, almost watching it with him before he does what he needs to do. Ricks eyelids lower a bit, his eyes die. He doesn't know if he's breathing, doesn't know if his heart is beating. He subconsciously lifts his arm up and around Will's neck, slitting his throat. He thinks of his family. Will struggles for a while, chokes. Rick listens for a moment, still fixed on the TV, then looks down to watch the blood stream out. Sometimes, it's the worst part. Sometimes, it's his favorite. He feels powerful; more in control than he has ever been. 

He hears a door inside the home open, and he darts into the darkness of the living room after quickly turning the TV off. He sees a silhouette start to come down the hall lazily. It moves toward the kitchen, Rick thinks about escaping as the figure turns his back to enter the kitchen, but a certain scent makes him stay. He freezes for the first time being in this business, he waits. The figure doesn't turn on the light and by know Rick realizes it's Daryl. He hears ice cubes land into a cup and then the faucet turn on quietly. Daryl isn't trying to wake his father, isn't about to take another beating tonight. Don't think he can handle it. It isn't until Daryl turns back to return to his room that he notices something dark and red staining the carpet where his dad is sitting. He moves closer cautiously until his mind puts it all together. He turns the living room light on and sees his father, sprawled out on the recliner, bathing in his own blood, then sees Rick. Daryl jumps back and heads back toward the kitchen, pulling the crowbar off of the top of the fridge and holds it up defensively, fixing his eyes on Rick.

"Who the fuck are you!?" Daryl yells, holding the crowbar tight.

"Better start talkin' before I start fuckin' swingin' on you, regardless of what you got in your fuckin' hand!"

Rick takes a step closer to the kitchen and holds his hands up to Daryl, knife in one. 

"Woah woah woah," Rick breathes out, his eyes widening at the site of Daryl for the first time. For a moment, he forgets where he is, forgets why he came. He remembers the scent of Daryl entering the room, and his mind goes blank. He can't speak.

"Well!? What the fuck have you done!? You gonna come into my house, kill m' father and then not have nothin' to fuckin' say about it!? Huh!?" Daryl was stepping closer to Rick only by a few steps, ready to take a hit.

"No, no!" Rick raised his voice, stepping back again.

"I'm not here to hurt you, I came here for him! I know what he does, I know what he does to you, kid!" Rick says, trying to seem as harmless as possible. Daryl only gets angrier.

"So, what, some guy I don't even fuckin' know is comin to my god damn rescue now!? Who the fuck are you!?" Rick doesn't say, he only stares for a while longer, then looks at the back door. Daryl threatens him with his eyes before finally breaking the thick silence.

"Fine, just fucking get yer ass out of there then!" Daryl watches as Rick leaves and calls the cops. 

Rick stays at a distance as he watches the cops come, watches Daryl come out of the house and wait for them, watches as the kid battles with his feelings. Rick should have researched more. What if he had no where else to go? What if he is just going to end up in foster care for the next year, not be able to make anything of himself? As the cops pull up, sirens blaring, he slips away for the next few days to think. There are no new contracts for a while.


	2. Speak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick let's Will's death eat him up inside after he watches the chain of events that follow pertaining Daryl. He worries, he takes Daryl on as a part of himself in his own mind, follows him for weeks. Daryl finally notices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***IMPORTANT*** OKAY SO. IN LAST CHAPTER. When I first started writing the fic it was a Deaf!Rick fic, in which the accident made him permanently deaf. It wasn't until I started typing what Rick was "hearing" that I fucked it up. So instead, It's now turned into Mute!Rick. Doesn't talk to anyone, the first time he spoke was to Daryl. Partially out of fear of getting beaten to death, partially out of astonishment. Rick couldn't understand what he was seeing when he looked at Daryl. Couldn't distinguish if he reminded him of his son, himself, or something more in that sense. He had to find out which is why he follows him. I hope that clears up some confusion because when I re-read the last chapter I forgot to take some deaf aspects out to replace them with mute aspects. :'-)

"Tuesday, October 2nd. Daryl..." Rick is writing, but he trails off when he thinks of him. The first sight of him was late at night. His hair was scruffed, his short facial hair was scruffed. He was tired and full of rage and fear when he was gripping the crowbar in his hands, twisting them slowly to keep a good grip. Rick makes a face, almost like he is angry, when he remembers their conversation. He can't help but wonder if the only reason he spoke was to defend himself or to show himself he could when prompted. He wanted to believe it was for self defense, but he has been in this situation before with much older, much more experienced and much bigger people and he did not hesitate to shoot them down. There is never speaking required when making a kill. He snaps out of his thoughts when he feels his own hand trail down his face in an attempt to calm himself. He continues on the piece of paper although he is unsure why. He scratched out Daryl's name to keep it less personal.

"They put the kid in the local jail house sleeping bunker for the night, for his protection." Rick starts pressing the pen down harder. "But I would have never hurt him." He shakes, rereads, then scratches out the last sentence. He closes the notebook for the next few days until they find out where Daryl should go. Turns out, Daryl has an uncle with an apartment not too far from where Rick stays, out in the suburbs. Rick doesn't like this at all, thinks about pickin' up and movin' to the other side of Philly. Sometimes he thinks about goin' home, but throws that idea away like a thumb when he thinks of Uncle Joe. He surprisingly has has a very decent relationship with the boss; although Rick likes to keep to himself, Uncle Joe regularly invites him to the family gatherings to talk about business. Rick hardly ever goes, which would usually serve as a punishment but Rick has nothing left. The boss has nothing to punish him with except torture, which Rick shrugs off. Uncle Joe knows better than that; he has gotten to know Rick fairly well, trusts him even though he is an ex cop. Still has people follow him around once in a while, just to make sure, but he gains trust that way and is assured that his old life as a cop is just as dead as his family is. How could anything ever go wrong with a mute hitman? The guy doesn't even fucking talk, and with being an ex cop and knowing his way around the personality of the law? Rick is free range, can do as he damn well pleases, even in the mob family, as long as he sticks to his contracts and does what he is told. There is never a problem with Rick.

"Monday, October 8th. They moved him into his Uncle's apartment... It's about 15 minutes away from here." Rick scribbles, watching from afar as Daryl and his Uncle pull up with the last load of the things in Will's house. "They moved everything over after the crime scene had concluded. His uncle is a fairly short man, shares several physical characteristics with Will. For his sake, it better not be any personality traits that they share as well." Rick's subconscious means that he better not lay a hand on Daryl, but he tells himself that it's about just being a horrible person in general. He is constantly lying to himself over this kid, and it's making him fall back into a state of mind that he had when he lost his family. Always with a head full of lies, always in another world pretending they were still there, hearing them, seeing them.. It's why he left. Once Daryl is settled in, he watches him through his window through binoculars. He seems tired. Disconnected. Rick feels the same. He goes home, doesn't visit for a few weeks, has some work to do.

Uncle Joe is getting more and more complicated with his work. Has contracts back to back, faulty reasoning. Rick never questions it, always does what he is told but always makes sure he researches for himself as well. Most of the time, recently, he's been working with Uncle Joe's brutes. They go to drug houses, Rick always starts with the drug lords/bosses because they don't do what they are told. It's easier this way, crews always act like they have no idea what to do once the boss is gone. He slips in, slips out, brutes go in and take everyone out then transfer the merchandise. Rick is untouchable. These cases are uneasy to solve and most of the time, are not much looked in to. Rick knows just as any other cop out there that it is not worth finding the murder of people in the drug industry. They are better off dead. But the mob is growing, Uncle Joe is bringing new people in. He's looking at Rick to start training them soon. It means less contracts for him, but it also makes his life easier. He's been too busy to check on Daryl, and he starts getting anxious. Starts over thinking. Once he gets a few days to himself, he watches Daryl. Watches him go to school, watches him walk home... He does everything on his own, since Rick can't see inside the school, can't even tell if Daryl has friends but form the look of it, he doesn't. Always walks home alone, never leaves the house besides school or to take a walk.. Sometimes the kid goes out into the woods near his apartment and shoots at squirrels and birds. Rick admires that. 

Every time he sees Daryl, his tongue gets numb and his ears start to ring but he stops trying to figure out why. It's even harder looking through is window, and Rick feels embarrassed for invading his privacy the way he does. Tonight is different, Rick has already sunk this low. He feels the need to explain himself to Daryl after watching all of the emotional fits he has been going through the past few days, especially since they all turn violent and he ends up hurting himself. In Daryl's world, tonight is no different. He goes into an emotional rage after a few glasses of vodka and some beer. Trashes his room, tries to rip his hair out and succeeds just a bit, then resorts to cutting himself with his hunting knife. Rick can tell he is only trying to release his pain, trying to create closure for himself for all his unanswered questions. This is common when someone has a family member that was murdered, no matter how cruel they had been. The survivors always seek closure, whether it's from the murderer, or the murdered. Rick can tell that Daryl needs both. Daryl calms down and decides it's time for him to shoot some things. He gets undressed from his school clothes, and Rick swallows. He can only see half of his body as Daryl is in the corner of his room, nearly invisible to Rick from where he is. Daryl only ends up throwing a hoodie and some sweats on, but in the intervals of getting dressed, he is looking out the window. Rick knows Daryl has no idea that he's here, watching; but he always wonders how he would react if he did. Always curious about his behavior and his what ifs.

Daryl doesn't go to sleep until it's pretty late so it's 1AM when Daryl leaves the house with his hoodie up and backpack on, and of course Rick follows. He follows in his truck for a while, until Daryl comes across a creek and crosses it. Rick gets out of his truck and follows him through to the other side, staying fairly far behind. Daryl comes to an open field where he sits down and pulls out his paintball gun, cleaning it, loading it, and getting ready all while smoking a cigarette. Daryl likes using his paintball gun because he likes watching the red and yellow splatter everywhere, and he appreciates how quiet his is. He doesn't think he would ever get his hands on a real gun, so he doesn't worry much for it. Daryl listens and waits. He knows there's critters in the trees above him so he looks up, focusing on the branches. Hearing the scattering above him, Daryl scopes in and takes the shot. This goes in slow motion for Rick, although his eyes are pretty well adjusted to the darkness, all he can see is the way that Daryl's hair moves when he turns to shoot. He watches his hands flex when he moves his index to the trigger finger and watches his shoulder blades peek through he back of his hoodie. Rick swallows and shortly after he hears a thump in the leaves below, he can see the yellow paint across a tiny body. Daryl chuckles to himself and picks it up by the tail, watching as it fights to squirm around. He holds it there for a while to admire it before placing it back onto the ground and letting it run away Then he hears more scattering behind him, so he jumps up, ready to take another shot when all he is confronted with is his father's murderer; the cigarette drops from his mouth.

He'll never forget Ricks face. It was rough, he looked older than he was with the years of stress put on his shoulders. But he had these piercing blue eyes, something he could see better this time in the glow from the moon. Daryl kept his paintball gun up and ready, breathing heavily. He was more scared that frustrated this time, and from crying earlier, his eyes were stingy. Rick raised his hands and kept him up, stepping closer, so that Daryl knew his intentions.

"What the fuck do you want?" Daryl questioned in a more clam matter than the last, "you ain't had enough torturin' me? Killin' my dad and now what, you comin' to taunt me or somethin'!?" Rick was trying to refrain from talking this time, but Daryl pushed the issue. "You just gonna fuckin' stare at me!? Say somethin'!"

"I.." Rick paused, and then planted his feet to the ground beneath him with his arms still raised. Rick was stuck in the spell that was Daryl. Was too focused on his hands and the way they flexed around the gun like they did the crowbar a few months before. His hood fell down in the motion of him jumping up and revealed his hair, just as scruffed as the last time they met. The bruises were gone, but not the scars. Daryl's beard grew out just a bit and Rick could tell he wasn't trying to keep up with it anymore. Daryl got tired of being stared at, got tired of waiting.

"What? Speak the fuck up if you really got somethin' to fuckin' say to me!"

"I'm not going to hurt you." Rick raised his voice, "They think I'm going to. I'm not." he said in extreme defense. Daryl lowered the gun slightly in confusion, then picked his arms back up into position.

"You know what man, you're real fuckin' weird. Followin' me around, you think I ain't noticed? You should stop parkin' in the same damn spot all the time." Daryl sighed and lowered his gun as a sign of light trust. Rick doesn't reply, and Daryl slowly starts putting the pieces together. "You don' talk much, do ya?" Daryl pursues, trying to at least get that question answered. Rick shakes his head. 

"So, if you ain't here to hurt me or taunt me, you jus' here to watch me get dressed every other night?" Rick finally opens his mouth.

"No, no." All he wants to say is that he wants to talk to him, get to know him. He feels an odd connection to Daryl and feels that it's safe to speak to him, so he tries. "I just came here to.." Rick tries to think of the word. "Explain myself!" He shouts unintentionally, and after a moment watches Daryl completely lower his paintball gun, letting it hang from his fingers on his side. 

"I've been watchin' you.. throw these fits every night." Daryl glares and gets ready to defend himself, Rick drops his arms. "hurtin' yourself." Rick swallows. "I just thought I'd come and tell you why.. why I had to do what I had to do. And I don't want you gettin' hurt in the process." 

"It ain't none of your fuckin' business. I don't even fuckin' know you!"

"Daryl," Rick pauses, "I know who your father was, on top of ruining your life he was hurting even more innocents.. The first time I saw you.." Rick trails off into his mind.

"You know my name..? Of course you do, been followin me for weeks, since my dad died, ain't ya?" Rick didn't respond, only stared, and watched as Daryl was about to break down again.

"I'm going to protect you.." Rick starts stuttering. "Make sure nothing like that happens to you again." He cuts himself off before saying too much about it.

"You killed my dad, you fuck!" Daryl's whole demeanor changed, and he was on the verge of tears. "Why was it any of your fuckin' business anyway? How do you know so much about it? Are you a fuckin' superhero or somethin'? My dad just another bad crook to you!?" Daryl started running his hands through his hair, tugging on it and crying, fretting. Rick stepped closer and placed his hands on Daryl's arms.

"Please don't," but Daryl cut him off with a punch to the face, and when Rick fell, another. Although Rick saw this coming from miles away, already knew Daryl would hit him if he got closer and especially if he touched him, he let it happen. He wanted Daryl to let it out. Daryl felt like a monster, felt like he could no longer control the anger in him, he saw the blood on his knuckles, then proceeded to wipe the sweat from his forehead even though it was cold out tonight. Daryl falls to his knees, face in hands, bawling. Rick lays there for a while to gather himself together, although he agreed to take the hit he didn't know a 16 year old could hurt him the way that he did. Rick finally pulled himself up from the bed of dirt and leaves he was laying in to straighten himself up. Breathing heavy and in pain, he was tired of watching Daryl cry.

"I have a job to do.." Rick spit, "I'm sorry that I.." Rick spit again, this time with blood. "Took away your dad, Daryl. But you're better off without him." Rick paused for a moment, "And I know that you don't know me.. You think I don't know what's best for you. I do," He started getting defensive yet again. "But I won't follow you anymore. You can handle yourself." With this, Daryl stopped crying, started wiping his tears and sniffing. Looked up to ask Rick his name, was ready to have a conversation with the man but he was gone. Daryl looked around for a moment, then gathered his things and went home. Rick made sure he got there okay. Rick didn't visit for a while.


End file.
